From the Ashes
by IrishLeFay
Summary: Severus Snape has never been entirely comfortable with what Voldemort requires of him, but has never had any reason to 'do the right thing'. A accidental run in with a schoolhood friend reminds him of his humanity. Don't be afraid of the OC!
1. Hand of Fate

Second Chances

Chapter One: Hand of Fate

By: Irish

Rating: PG 13

Disclaimer: Severus Snape is not mine, nor is the Dark Lord, the Harry Potter Universe, etc. Mikkael Romanova, however is. I'm not making any money off of this. So don't sue please.

Authors Note: Everyone knows that the last of the Harry Potter books has just come out, and I am well aware that this is an 'Alternate Universe' theme, what with the Snape being gay and all, but, I have come to know and love the Harry Potter Characters in my own way, and even though they by rights belong to JK Rowlings and she, of course, decides their fate, in my heart they will forever live a certain way.

Severus had never been anywhere so obscure in his life, and that was saying something. The shopping district of a tiny Jewish wizarding community outside of Stalingrad, and a back alley at that. The sounds of Russian and Hebrew mingled around him like a thick verbal soup. Russian he spoke, Hebrew he did not, and the Semitic language seem to taint the local Russian dialect to something just beyond his range of easy comprehension. He had to listen. And in the din of squalling chickens and babushkas, it wasn't worth it.

The Dark Lord wanted a new potion and it was any Chemists nightmare. For Severus, it was worse than a waking flashback. He had to invent the damned thing, from scratch; and the moral implications... Merlin, he tried not to think of those. He had never considered himself a pillar of virtue or icon of morality, but even his backdoor ethics shuddered at this.

The imperious curse required someone to set it, and maintain it. Especially on a strong willed individual, or worse, someone like James Potter, strong willed, with an iron clad morality. What the Dark Lord wanted was a potion that would implement a similar effect, only all it would take was simple ingestion. Easy to provide to unsuspecting Muggles and Wizards alike, a simple vial in the drinking water, and whole villages would fall prey.

The Dark Lord had gone on at length about what he had wanted. What it boiled down to though, was so cliché that Severus had wondered if the Dark Lord had actually dropped his basket a bit. The Dark Lord wanted a army of Zombies.

Severus hedged around a clutch of Hasidic men, speaking rapidly, gesturing widely, nearly knocking off each other's hats. A sharp right turn brought him down a narrow alley. Why were places like this always down narrow dank alleys? Severus thought that if he ever survived all this, he was going to start an apothecary on a bright sunny hill. Just for spite.

The research had taken him over a year, it might have taken less, if the Dark Lord had given him nothing but time, this project though, was to be fit in amongst his other duties, the more routine potion creations, and the torture sessions. Severus had a hand for torture, physical and mental, the Dark Lord only requested his expertise on certain individuals though. It still was that much less time to devote to this little 'project'. He wasn't sure which he hated more, the 'project' or the torturing.

The torturing had been his fault too. He had mentioned it, almost off hand to someone, who at the time had been, higher in the ranks. The Crucious was good, it was effective, but only to a point. Physical pain could get you far, but psychological pain broke people that much faster. Losing parts of their bodies a small piece a time, permanent physical disfigurement. It had been implemented, he had been advanced, and put in charge of such things.

The sign over the door he was looking for was in Russian as well as Hebrew, and Severus thanked whatever demon had graced him thusly.

'Kabballah Supplies' it read, as simple as that. There wasn't a doubt in the ex-slytherine's mind that what was beyond that door was any potion enthusiasts wet dream. Ritual magic was almost unknown in the general wizarding community anywhere in the west. The exceptions were in the small number of cultures that even the muggles believed in magic. Voodoo, Kabballah, a tiny smattering of earth witches and wizards that still could be dug up in Ireland, Wales and the Shettlands. The supplies needed for ritual magics were obscure, even to one such as himself. The only reason he had known at all was because of two childhood aquantences at Hogwarts. Normal witches and wizards didn't talk about ritual magic, not the kind of low, earthy ritual that these cultures used. No wands involved.

After a long pause, he ducked through the door.

It was all that he had expected, shelves and shelves of large mason jars with powders, leaves, liquids and things that were somewhere in between. There were small cages with animals in them, rats, chickens, cats, toads. None meant for pets. It was dark, and very still. Severus boots thudded heavily on the floor boards, like the tolling of death, which he supposed, in a way it was.

The appeared from a back room. Not the creaking babushka or full bearded old geezer he expected. Instead, a man only just slightly older than Severus himself. His yarmulke pinned carefully on his crown, the white strings of his prayer shawl visible hanging from under his shirt. He spoke a greeting in Hebrew, which Severus recognized, but did not return, addressing the man in Russian instead.

_"Hello. I am looking for a rare element, can you help me?"_

There was a pause, the man switched gears, clearly surprised that a gentile had found his shop. Severus knew full well his lack of Hebrew marked him, even if his looks could have easily passed for Jewish.

_"Perhaps. I am not in the business of secular pursuits. I don't typically sell to... gentiles."_ The emphasis on the word 'gentile' let Severus know what this man though of his lack of appropriate faith and heritage. He also knew, though, that even the most devout in Russia had been raised in a culture of backdoor favors and bribery. That's all this was, telling him that he would have to pay through his beak of a nose for what he wanted, simply because his dick wasn't cut. Ah well. It wasn't his personal money.

_"I understand. I would pay double for that which I seek, the proceeds of course to go to your Temple." _He smiled slightly, a twitch of the lips, it was unlikely any of that money would ever see a donation box. Severus paused for a moment at that uncharitable thought, filing it away for later. His father, the late, great, Tobias Snape, had been a rabid anti-semite. Severus wanted nothing to do with his father's hatred. Not out of any noble cause, simple because his father would have had a stroke on the spot if he knew his only son was fraternizing with Jews. That had give Severus the one joy he had had in nearly ten years, leaning over to his father, as the man took his dying breaths.

_'Father, I have two things to tell you before you die.' He whispered, almost as close to his father's ear as a lover. He had been summoned to his father's bedside, the only living relative. Even the crazy old bastard would take what comfort he could get on his deathbed._

_Tobias nodded weakly, an indication for Severus to continue, his hand gripping Severus's with a fevered strength. Severus smiled slowly, feral._

_'I am gay.' He whispered, that smile never leaving his lips as his father gasped for his last moments of life. 'Your only son is a sodomite. Your blood will die with me. Thank god.'_

_His father shuddered, making a creaking sound of indignation, trying to pull away. Clearly these were not the words he wanted to hear. Severus's free hand came up quickly, to the muggle nurse keeping a polite and professional distence, it looked like a gentle touch. It was actually a restraint. He wanted Tobias to hear every word he had to say._

_'It gets better old man.' Severus's face hurt with the smile that never faltered, hidden from the one witness by the side of his fathers head. 'The only man I've ever loved, the only friend I've ever had, and take this to hell with you, was a Jew. Your sodomite son loves a Jew.' He whispered the words with almost gleeful joy. 'I think I'll donate to the local Synagogue in your memory. See you in hell, father.'_ _ He straightened then stood, prying his hand from his fathers near desperate grasp, wiping his palm on his pants, and strode from the room, leaving him to die with only a nurse for company. _

Sometimes though, his childhood rearing made itself known, despite the fact that what he had said to his father was perfectly true. He rather thought that last thought was one of those times. Then again, Russians were notorious for being untrustworthy. Maybe it was just because the man was a Russian.

_"And what is it that you seek?"_ The man asked, raising an eyebrow, looking Severus over, clearly rethinking his supposed uninterested in secular pursuits.

_"Ah, I seek gold dust."_

The man snorted and rolled his eyes. _"I run an apothecary, not a bank. I cannot help you."_ There was speculation under that though, and Severus thought the man had to have guessed what it was he really wanted.

_"Gold dust, from the mines of Solomon."_ He smiled slowly. It was by far the most unique ingredient he had ever come across. One that worked not on the properties of the physical element itself, what Muggles would have called Chemistry, but on the magical principal of association. All of the history and events having become a part of the gold dust itself, and that becoming the reacting agent. The power of 'belief' some liked to think of it as.

Dark eyebrows lifted, almost disappearing into the man's hair line. His beetle-dark eyes glinted briefly. With alarm or interest, Severus couldn't tell.

_"And what makes you think I would have something so... potent."_

_"Does it matter? Do you have some?" _ Severus didn't want to dick around. Either the man had some or he didn't. He knew Russian practice was for them both to be vague and roundabout. He simply didn't have that kind of patients. For the price he was offering to pay, he hoped the Hassidic man would be willing to play ball.

_"I have what you want."_ there was a pause. _"How much do you need?"_

_"Two drams."_ Severus answer promptly. He actually only needed one. He didn't want to make this trip again if he could avoid it, though. Two would ensure either two attempts at the thing, or two batches.

_"Two whole drams?"_ The man was clearly shocked, or at least feigned it well. The speed with which he named a price though, suggested that that shock wasn't genuine. _"One hundred and fifty galleons,"_ another pause. _"A dram."_

_"Are you insane!"_ Severus exploded, his own shock less then genuine. It was more expensive than he had been guessing, but not by all that much. It also didn't surprise him that the shopkeeper wanted it in Galleons, not the local _Yavidnish_.

_"No bargaining. Final price."_ The man said with a shake of his head. _"This is no trinket that you ask. It is dangerous."_

_"Fine. Three hundred Galleons."_ Severus nodded sharply, and watched with hard eyes as the man took out a small vial from a concealed place under the counter, and produced brass scales. Severus tested the scales with a weight of his own that he had brought, then watched to be sure it was measured perfectly, not skimped at all. Another smaller vial was produced and the appropriate amount poured into it. Money exchanged hands. It wasn't long before Severus was on the streets once again, vial tucked away in a secret pocket, threading through the populated streets, making his way back to the small boarding house he had found temporary accommodations in. He would head back to the London tomorrow.

Once in his small room, he opened the small chest that contained the belongings he had brought with him on this trip, buried within was wooden box, which unlocked only at his touch. Within that, another wooden box. He licked the pad of his thumb and brushed it over the silver lock, which clicked open to reveal yet another box. Now, he took out his small belt knife, and knicked his thumb, brushing it over the locking mechanism, this one white gold. With his blood, it too clicked open. He tucked the vial in lambs wool, then lay it on the plush blue velvet of the box. He reversed the process, closing and locking each successive box. Precious treasure thus hidden, he went back down stairs to the public room of the boarding house, ordering a celebratory drink. Not wine, or brandy, and a very limited selection of whiskey. That was okay.

"Vodka." He said simply to the woman behind the bar, then after a pause. _"Coffee?"_

She nodded, and poured both substances into a mug, and slid it to him. He paid her, and when she turned away abruptly, careful not to touch his hand in the exchange, he withdrew to a dark corner to brood. It was an unusual experience, being a minority, and he wasn't reveling in it. Severus preferred to pass unnoticed. His Russian was fluent, but it was accented. He spoke only a smattering of Hebrew, not enough to make an attempt at the local Creole. No _yarmulke_ on his head, he would have drawn as much attention in a toga. He had gotten what he needed though.

Severus leaned back in the hard wooden chair he had dropped into, resting his heels on a low window sill. The sun was going down outside, dropping the common room deeper into darkness. The memories that had popped up this afternoon, of his last words to his father, had cast his mind off in a direction he generally did not let it wander. Tonight though, alone, without having to worry about who was around him, no other Deatheater would pass unnoticed here, either, he let his thoughts run wherever they chose.

Every word he had spoken to his father, though he would have said it even if it hadn't been true. It had been so long ago, that love, that boy. Nearly ten years ago. Severus had been only thirteen himself. The boy, a year younger in age, though in the same year level. A Ravenclaw. It had been so very innocent, never more then a sparse handful of brief kisses, with little more behind them then a kiss one would kiss a sibling. The friendship though, Merlin, though Severus outwardly scoffed at the idea of anything romantic as matches that were soul deep, he full believed that that boy had been a full half of his soul. They may never have grown to be lovers, even if they had stayed as friends, but to the current Severus, that wouldn't have mattered. He had loved that boy as he had loved none other, before or since. Of course, any amount of loving was more than none.

Mikkael. Mikka to those more familiar to him. Mikki to Severus. The could have been blood brothers, by their looks. Black hair, dark eyes, pale skin. Of course, under the glasses of Past Perfection, Mikki had been far more attractive than himself. His hair a warm black, instead of Severus's cool black, very thick and a little course, instead of silky and thin, curly, instead of ruler-straight. Mikki's skin had been like china, Severus's like wax. He knew full well that his memories of Mikki were tainted with nostalgia, and told himself on multiple occasions that he probably hadn't been half as beautiful as Severus remembered him. It didn't seem to matter.

Another sip of his coffee and vodka, and his mind spiral deeper into ancient memories of Mikki, the dark and drink working on him, as well as the reminders all around him of Mikki's roots.

Mikki had been a Russian Jew, and came to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang because Durmstrang didn't accept Jews, or cripples. Mikki had been both. They had met on the train their first year. Both so shy, so nervous. Mikki had been in a carriage by himself, reading. He had been the only one of all the first years to have a book out, and so Severus joined him. They had become fast friends on the train ride. It had been just another heart break in a life time of them when they had been sorted into separate houses. They had both refused to let the friendship die there though, and kept it up all three years that Mikki had attended Hogwarts, despite inter-house politics.

That third year, their intensely loving friendship had evolved somewhat. Severus had never learned how to be close with anyone in any way, but Mikki was just one of those people who was used to physical closeness. Maybe because of his infirmity, or simply from his cultural rearing. THey had often sat hip to hip, reading from the same book. Severus often walked with a hand on Mikki's shoulder as Mikki worked his muggle wheelchair through the crowds of students. When Mikki had been in pain, which had been all too often, Severus would hold his hand, or hug him, caress his hair. It wasn't entirely normal, but Severus didn't care. His parents didn't touch him, and it was worth the nasty comments on their sexuality to have that.

Third year had brought a handful of brief and awkward kisses. And fourth year... fourth year there had been no Mikki. He simply had not returned. The Headmaster told him eventually, that it was because Mikki had his own issues at home, that he and his mother had had to move suddenly. Severus never heard from him again.

The only person who had shown him true affection in his life had betray him, just like everyone else. Yes, there was a reason, but it never stopped hurting. Severus suspected that he was probably dead now. His health had always been poor, sick with pneumonia every winter, physically infirm to the point of being in a wheelchair, Severus wasn't sure on the particulars, only that Mikki was exceptionally pigeon-toed, and that his legs pained him badly. As an adult, he suspected it had been rheumatoid arthritis, at least in part.

Being here in Russia, in a Jewish community, was like tearing open scars, and rubbing salt in them. Especially considering he was here to purchase the downfall of all things good in the world. He had hoped to find some solace, in touching a part of something that would have been a part of Mikki. The only thing he was finding solace in was his vodka and coffee.

When he finished his first, he ordered a second, a third, a fourth. He was drinking them slowly enough that he wasn't getting too drunk, but he was starting to feel it as he worked his way though the night. Around one in the morning the witch had just given him the bottle of vodka and the self-replenishing pot of coffee and had gone to bed herself.

Severus let himself mentally meander all sorts of esoteric paths, circling around issues of morality, and if he even cared. Circling around what would be different in his life had he not lost Mikki. Obsessing over his own place in the world, and wondering if his name would be as infamous some day as that of Dr. Mengala, a muggle in the employment of the muggle version of the Dark Lord; Hitler.

By the time the sun started to come up, he was nicely drunk, and the bottle of Vodka significantly depleted. He had stopped with the coffee two hours ago, and was finishing what he promised himself would be his last mug of vodka, when the witch that ran the counter reappeared. He was pouring himself a second 'very-last-mug-of-vodka-for-the-evening' when the first breakfast patron staggered his way down the stairs. The new comer exchanged greetings with the woman, requesting what Severus assumed was food in Hebrew.

The-last-mug empty for a second time, he finally set it aside and looked around with bleary eyes. He should sleep. Or head back to London, than sleep. Sleep. He was too drunk to apparate. He planted both palms flat on the table and started to push himself to his feet.

"Severus? Severus Snape?"

Severus's head flew up, no one here should know him! He was trying to find his feet and reach for his wand at the same time, and doing neither very well. There was only one person in the room the voice could belong to. Warm black hair, eyes just as warm and just as dark, and skin like china.

"Mikki?" He squeaked. Then the floor tilted as though it were a seesaw, and down became up, and a little bit sideways. His last thought before he blanked out entirely, was that it was no more than a drunken mirage.


	2. Of Missing Boots and Boxers

Second Chances

Chapter Two: Of Missing Boots and Boxers

By Irish

Severus opened his eyes with a start, gasping and reaching for his wand, utterly disoriented. Where was he? He swiveled his head around swiftly, taking in his surroundings, grunting as a spike of pain lanced through his skull. The slanted ceiling and unfamiliar feel of the mattress reminded him. He was in a boarding house, in Russia. Only...

Severus squinted and tried to see around the pounding in his head. This wasn't his room. His room had been devoid of personality. Nothing but his trunk at the foot of his bed. His narrow, squeaky bed. This bed was not narrow, and this room was stuffed near to overflowing. Books, shelves and shelves and shelves of books. The dresser had an assortment of personal items, the bedside table had a small stack of books that mostly hid a framed photo. There was a comfortable looking wing backed chair and footstool in front of the hearth. His room had no hearth, no chair, just the bed, his trunk and the bedside table. Where the hell was he?

Mikki.

It hit him as hard as he had hit the floor earlier. Mikki, this must be Mikki's room. He had passed out at Mikki's feet like the drunken sot he was. Mikki must of gotten him up here, somehow, and put him to bed. Only, Severus now knew, this was not his bed, but Mikki's.

As if only waiting for acknowledgment of that, suddenly his senses were awash in all that was the man his once best friend had grown into. The sheets and pillows around him gave a soft scent of sandalwood and rose, with a second underscent that must have been purely Mikki, a masculine scent, and one that wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him. It made him think of Mikki hugging him, at the end of their third year, just before they got to the station and had to pretend not to know each other. Severus had pressed his face against where Mikki's slender shoulder met his neck. The smell of Mikki's skin.

"Oh God..." Severus groaned, his throat fisting in a sharp rise of emotions. More details leaped out at him. The top book on the stack by the bedside table was a copy of the Torah, and it appeared to be the very same copy Mikki had had in his Hogwarts years, the blue leather cover badly battered. A pair of wire rimmed glasses on the bedside table, smaller and sleeker than they had been years ago, but just as thick. A familiar jumble of potion and pill bottles on the dresser. Even had he not known Mikki had brought him up here, he would have known this was Mikki's room.

Severus slipped from the bed, his boots had been removed, but Mikki appeared to not have taken any other liberties with him. He should leave, Severus thought, terrified of having to actually speak to Mikki. Even if he hadn't passed out at his feet, what could he say to the man he had been having an imaginary love affair with for ten years? What could he say to a man he hadn't known since he was thirteen, who represented all that was good in the world to Severus's mind. What could he possibly say?

_'I know we haven't spoken in ten years, but I'm in love with your memory, oh, and ah, I work for the Dark Lord. What do I do? Well, I torture people. Oh, and I'm about to create a potion to enslave man kind... So, what have you been up to?'_

Yeah right, and maybe tomorrow he'd wake up beautiful, popular, and rich with a life partner and three cats. Oh no wait, that was Black, well, accept the cats.

"Note to self... castrate Black." He muttered absently. Now where were his boots?

A closer look around the room didn't turn them up. Nor did looking under the bed, dresser and chair. Nor were they in the conjoined bathroom, or anywhere that Severus was willing to look. Time was passing, and Severus had no idea how long Mikki would be gone. He considered simply leaving without his shoes, but then what? He didn't have a second pair, not even back at home. He had never needed one. Where could they have possibly gone?

Hesitantly, Severus started opening the drawers on Mikki's dresser, starting at the bottom, working his way up. Jeans, slacks, dress shirts, sweaters, tee shirts, all in neat rows and stacks. Socks, all folded and lined up. There was only one drawer left, and Severus knew what was sure to be in there, and it certainly wasn't his boots. His boots wouldn't even fit.

He knew he should stop, but it felt as though he was leaving something unfinished if he didn't look inside that narrow top drawer. Besides, maybe Mikki had shrunk the boots.

That was all the excuse Severus needed, and he opened the drawer slowly, palms sweating as though he were meeting Mikki's mother, not peeking at his underwear. The drawer slid open all too easily, almost an invitation.

He was shocked at the amount of color, so unlike his own underwear drawer, which was white briefs and boxers in a generic light blue. He didn't have anyone to impress with his underwear, why bother with anything fancy? Mikki did appear to have someone to impress with his underwear though. Severus certainly was. Boxers, silky and slinky in red and black and blue solids. Others with patterns of dragons or snitches and... smiley faces? Severus was surprised to hear himself laugh, just a little.

Glancing around guiltily, he reached into the drawer and picked up the pair of black and yellow smiley face boxers, made of some sort of faux silk that felt smooth and cool against his fingers. That was... cute, and amusing. Severus shook his head and reached in once again to put them away, another row of color caught his eye though. He paused and looked closer. They were folded, carefully, but clearly briefs, and not just any briefs... Severus felt his mouth go dry and the pounding in his head became worse. Not thongs, that would have been tacky, and judging by the rest of the clothes Severus had seen, Mikki was class in high caliber. High cut bikini briefs.

His throat clicked his he tried to swallow, the hand holding the smiley boxers dropping slowly to his side, as his mind filled with visions of smooth china flesh, and the elastic of those briefs being sorely tested.

In the next moment, Severus heard the doorknob turning. With a gasp, he shoved the drawer shut as the door started to open. Belatedly he remembered the boxers clutched in his hand. Too late to shoved them back in the drawer. Out of options, he simply stuffed them in a robe pocket.

"Severus? Are you awake?"

"Erm," Severus managed, stumbling backwards a couple steps, feeling for the bed and sitting down on it hard as the door opened fully and Mikki slipped in.

"Erm? I'm not sure I know that word. Do you know the Russian translation?" Mikki's voice was teasing, so was the smile on his lips as he maneuvered his chair further into the room. It was different than the one he had had as a child, Severus realized, then felt stupid for being surprised at that. Of course it was. That wheelchair had been for a child, and slender as Mikki still was, he wouldn't have fit in it. This one looked far more practical as well, it looked light weight, the wheels tilted slightly inward at the top, only the merest suggestion of handle bars.

"Russian translation?" Severus said stupidly, unable to take his eyes from Mikki, trying to reconcile the boy he remembered to the man sitting before him. The wheelchair wasn't the only change. Mikki the boy had looked like an invalid, had looked very much like he needed to be in his wheelchair. Mikki the man looked like he should be astride a broom with a quaffle in hand. His legs no longer canted a little to the side, as though he couldn't keep them quite straight, which he couldn't, back then. Now his feet rested squarely on the foot bar, knees bent at a perfect right angle, toes directly forward, hips dead center. The hands that rested lightly on his wheels were still long fingered and dove pale, but they looked strong, as did the forearms revealed but the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. And those shoulders... Severus was pretty sure he could have wet dreams about those shoulders.

"I-i-its, ah, a filler-filler word. M-m-meaningless." Severus stammered, blinking, trying to make his brain work around the vodka headache and lack of blood.

"I know," Mikki chuckled again, wheeling closer, and easy flick of his wrists. "I was teasing you. I bet you were looking for these." He reached behind him, and lifted Severus's boots for him to see, laces tied together and draped over his handlebar.

"Yes!" Severus reached for them, desperate to escape this beautiful man and his gentle teasing. It was one thing to have memories. Severus was quickly realizing that memories were nothing compared to reality. He had no idea how to talk to the very real man in front of him.

Mikki dropped the boots back over his handlebar, and with another flick of his wrist angled his chair so that Severus would practically have to crawl onto his lap to reach them.

"Sorry, I'm not going to give them back." Mikki's English was flawless, though the accent was a little different than Severus remembered it. Not as thick, not as harsh.

"What? Why?"

"I may have not seen you for ten years, my friend, but I suspect I still know you well, _da?_ The minute I give them to you, you will run off."

"So I should have just stolen your boots ten years ago?" Severus had not meant to say that, and his eyes widened with surprise, a blush coloring his cheeks at how biting his tone had been.

"Ouch. Alright, that was fair." Mikki sighed losing his smile, looking away from Severus a moment. "I'm sorry about that... It was out of my control."

"What was? Where did you go? You didn't even write!" Severus had no idea where the words were coming from, but the hurt he had buried under nostalgia was surfacing, and running away with his tongue. He had to know.

"We moved, my mother, brother and I. Suddenly. We moved to Israel, to get away from my father. I couldn't write, my mother wouldn't let me at first, and then I got sick..."

From anyone else 'I got sick' would be about as much of an excuse as 'my niffler ate my homework', but Severus remembered how sick Mikki could get. In second year, mikki had spent an entire month in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts with pneumonia.

"As soon as I was well enough, I had surgery on my legs. By the time I had enough of a mind to think to write to you, it had been a year, Severus. I was sure you hated me for leaving you without a word." Mikki's voice was soft, and he still hadn't looked back to Severus. "The more time passed, the more sure I was you would never want to hear from me. I'm sorry, Severus."

Severus stared at him, unsure how to respond to that. It was such a simple answer, both a good reason and a pathetic excuse. How different would have things been, if Mikki had stayed, or even just written? Would he be here today, with the downfall of humanity in his trunk? Severus doubted it.

"I thought of you, every day." Severus found himself whispering, and wondered if someone had slipped him veriteserum. _'Leave, leave now you idiot! Before you admit too much, before he figures out what a pathetic fuck up you are!'_ cried the mindvoice that sounded suspiciously like his father.

"I'm sorry," Mikki said again, looking at him finally. "I thought of you too, every day."

"You did?" Mikki's admission started Severus out of his mental argument with his father.

"Yes, of course! You were my best friend!" Mikki snorted slightly "My only friend, actually. No one understood me like you did." He shrugged. "I don't know if its divine providence, or luck, or coincident that crossed our paths again, but I'm glad they have, if for no other reason that now I've had a chance to apologize to you."

Severus stared at him, blinking. He should go, leave and never look back. If he stayed, he would let Mikki close to him. There was no keeping his distance in Mikki's presence, he found. Severus couldn't afford liabilities or weaknesses. Weaknesses, loved ones, could be used against him, would be used against him. One mistake in the service of the Dark Lord, and Mikki would be found stone cold with a Dark Mark over his head, for Severus's mistake. Even worse, Mikki may simply be killed so that Severus had no distractions or divided attentions.

"It doesn't matter now," Severus whispered. "Our paths _have_ crossed again. I'm glad they have too. I... I thought surely you were dead by now. You were always so ill," Severus felt his eyes rake over the form that didn't seem to belong in the chair it was folded into. "That seems to be less the case." A faint smiled turned up Severus's lips.

"Not so much," Mikki smiled widely again, and Severus felt his own smile widen to something a bit goofy as he sighed deeply.

"I can see, you look... really good." Severus admitted.

"I wish I could say the same to you, my friend. You rather look like you've spent your evening at the bottom of the bottle. Maybe a few of them."

"I have," he sighed deeply again. He knew he looked terrible. He had never been even slightly attractive, hung over, Severus was sure a sixty year old transvestite in stage make up would look better. "Should I put a paper bag over my head and spare your eyes?" Severus tried to make a joke out of it.

"Hardly. I brought you something to eat, and something for the headache I'm sure you have." Mikki paused, and the kindness of his next words almost brought tears to Severus's eyes. "You look like you've got the world on your shoulders."

"No, nothing like that," Severus forced a chuckle, then pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Mikki felt like a second chance thrown in his path, a rope ladder to salvation, and Severus badly wanted to throw himself at Mikki's feet, and beg for help, for forgiveness of the transgressions he'd already committed. He wanted to confess all his sins, and plead for sanctuary.

There was no sanctuary from the Dark Lord though. No help, no forgiveness, no second chances.

"Here, drink this."

He felt a hand on his knee, and a smooth decanter pressed into his hand. He drank it back without a thought, recognizing the taste as a headache relieving draught immediately. It burned going down a bit and he cleared his throat, finally taking his other hand away from his face and looking at Mikki again.

"Thanks."

"Gladly, why don't you shower? Clean up a little, that will help too. Thank you for not running off." Mikki smiled.

"Alright." Severus could no more resist the suggestion than he could stop a stampeding hippogryff. Mikki's kindness had been what had made him the one shining beacon in Severus's life, and being confronted with the reality of it once more, Severus was utterly helpless. He had so little kindness, he yearned for what Mikki was giving him.

"Don't look so sad my friend, whatever is wrong... it will be okay."

And just for the moment, Severus let himself believe that.

Author's Note: Well, I did it again folks, I've had this chapter for months and didn't realize I hadn't posted it. I don't kow how I manage to do that, but somehow I do. How retarded. Anyway, here this is. No reviews yet, but I know some of you are reading this anyway. I hope you enjoy, it really is a good story. Don't let an OC scare you off!


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